“Leave 'm alone, Charley,” advised one of the young men who had crowded about them. “He's Bill Roberts, the fighter. You know'm. Big Bill.”
“I don't care if he's Jim Jeffries. He can't butt in on me this way.”
Nevertheless it was noticeable, even to Saxon, that the fire had gone out of his fierceness. Billy's name seemed to have a quieting effect on obstreperous males.
“Do you know him?” Billy asked her.
She signified yes with her eyes, though it seemed she must cry out a thousand things against this man who so steadfastly persecuted her. Billy turned to the blacksmith.
“Look here, sport, you don't want trouble with me. I've got your number. Besides, what do we want to fight for? Hasn't she got a say so in the matter?”
“No, she hasn't. This is my affair an' yourn.”
Billy shook his head slowly. “No; you're in wrong. I think she has a say in the matter.”
“Well, say it then,” Long snarled at Saxon, “who're you goin' to go with?—me or him? Let's get it settled.”
For reply, Saxon reached her free hand over to the hand that rested on Billy's arm.